


Beating Hearts and Wasted Breaths

by jessaverant



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ballerina Pearl, Ballet, F/F, Freeform, Military Bismuth, Off-screen Character Death, Pastor Rose, inspired by a song, questionable religious themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessaverant/pseuds/jessaverant
Summary: There is a young woman who sits in the chapel, alone and despondent.All she wants is one last moment with her wife.





	Beating Hearts and Wasted Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song/music video "Mon Esprit" by Sweet Crude: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SeZF88iEhlA. Hand wrote this on a plane ride earlier this week.

There was a young woman who always sat alone in the last pew of St. Bartholomew’s Interfaith Chapel, on the corner of Magnum Ave and Spruce St South. She was easily no more than twenty-nine, perhaps thirty, and had a look on her face that surpassed ages. She had never even been a member of the chapel before she started visiting every week.

One of the pastors always watched her from the vestry with sad eyes. Pity? Maybe. They didn't know each other as far as anyone knew. Maybe they did. It didn't matter.

The woman often sat with her eyes wide, almond in shape, a striking, other-worldly blue in color that glowed against olive skin. Pressed between thin palms was a piece of wrinkled paper she never set down, and never let anyone see.

_"I'm gonna miss watching you dance."_

_"I'm_ not _going to miss you critiquing me." A hearty laugh warmed a cold kitchen as kisses rained against flushed skin. Pearl allowed herself to be enveloped in two muscled arms and dug her nose into a sweet-smelling neck, the scent of their shared dollar store soap. Bismuth continued to pepper her hair and cheeks with feather-light kisses, ghosting over her skin in the way she loved._

_"My critiques are invaluable! No one knows dancing like me."_

_"Hush. Maybe I'll learn a new dance you haven't seen a million times, then?" Bismuth laughed again._

_"So," she murmured into her wife's pink ear, "what kind of dance_ will _you do for me when I get back?"_

_"Hm," Pearl purred, pressing a kiss to Bismuth's neck. "Maybe I'll finally learn how to salsa while you're gone?"_

_"Without me?" Bismuth whined, pushing away briefly and giving Pearl a mock frown. She couldn't hide the delight in her eyes or the laughter on her lips and Pearl grinned, sliding her fingers between Bismuth's and squeezing gently. "You wouldn't."_

_"Maybe jazz?" Pearl suggested, standing from the kitchen table. She took a step back, pressed against the wall, and wiggled her hips. Bismuth's cheeks flushed, and she ran a hand threw her newly shorn hair, raising her eyebrows._

_"I'd be amenable to jazz," she said. "Especially if you do that lil' wiggle thing while showing me." Pearl raised one eyebrow and lifted her arms above her head, doing a small twirl and bringing her back to where Bismuth was seated. Bismuth smiled and pulled at the lapels of her uniform, eyes bright. "Don't think they have much jazz in Afghanistan._

The woman came one hour before closing every Friday night, while the chapel was still open to visitors. She sat straight and still, hands clasped in her lap over the folded paper. Her eyes flitted around the space, never focusing on anything in particular but always taking everything in, as if she was trying to memorize every stone and facade of the sanctuary.

One of the other pastors had tried engaging with her early on, trying to entice her out of her reverie with promises of God or gods of choice, telling her she was free to express herself. The Reverend Rose D. Quartz, however, knew better. This woman wasn't here to talk to God. Not in the way her contemporaries wanted her to. She gently encouraged her colleagues to stop pestering the woman, and instead approached her with a proposition.

"You seem as if you want to… _express_ something," Rose said one day as she sat two pews away from the woman. The woman said nothing. "Once the doors are closed and locked, I will allow you to have the sanctuary to yourself." The woman turned to Rose, her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth as if to speak and decided against it, her eyes still wide in surprise. "That's what you want, right?"

_"I'm going to write a ballet about you."_

_"Oh, you write ballets now?"_

_"It can't be that hard."_ _Pearl snorted and turned to look over her shoulder at her wife, who was laying behind her with arms firmly wrapped around her waist._

_"Will I be the star?" Pearl asked, voice husky. Bismuth had dragged her from the cusp of sleep with her midnight musings as she normally did, but Pearl didn't mind in the least this time. Especially not on their last night before Bismuth left for her eighteen-month tour of the Middle East._

_"Of course," Bismuth replied. " 'Sides, it'll give me something to do while I'm hanging out in the desert."_

_"I have the feeling you'll be doing a bit more than 'hanging out'," Pearl mused, and it was Bismuth's turn to snort._

_"Nah, they bring mechanical engineers for fun. I'm sure harsh wind and sand is a perfect environment for large, complicated machinery. They won't even need me." The room fell into a hush and Pearl shifted in Bismuth's arms. She could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way her back straightened out and met Bismuth's front, as if Pearl were absorbing her shape by osmosis. Pearl's fingers trailed over the fists on her stomach, locating Bismuth's wedding band and touching it gently._

_"It's gonna be okay, Pearlie-girlie," Bismuth whispered into her hair. "This was a good decision. It's only a few months. I'll be home before you know it." Pearl said nothing in response._

Rose locked the door with a satisfying _clunk_ , closing later than planned. She had spent a bit of time convincing the rabbi she would be fine alone with the young woman.

"We're alone now," Rose said as she headed back into the sanctuary. "My name is Rose, by the way."

"The Reverend Rose Quartz," the woman said, her voice soft from disuse. "I know who you are." She still sat staring straight ahead.

"Ah," Rose answered, unsure of how to proceed. She didn't remember the woman and didn't expect this.

"My name is Pearl," the woman continued, finally turning to Rose. "I met you four months ago. Well-- we were never _introduced,_ but you gave a reading at my wife's funeral." Rose raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Pearl's steely gaze traveled back up to the interfaith altar, settling on a pedestal near the back. A memorial, for all those who had been ostracized, but still fought for their country. Fought for a place that turned its back and yet, still they went.

"I'm sorry," Rose said, but she knew Pearl didn't hear her. Pearl rose to her feet, stepping out of the pew and into the aisle, shedding her coat as she went. In the gentle light of the overhead lamps, wearing ballet slippers Rose had never noticed before, she raised her arms above her head and held her head back. Rose took a seat several rows behind her, watching in awe as Pearl took long, even strides towards the altar. She placed the paper on a stone holder just beneath the cross, glittering in the dying sunlight.

Pearl stepped back, tapped her toe against the floor, and arched her back. Right there, in the sanctuary of a downtown chapel, she began to dance. Rose watched, slack-jawed, as this young woman's body shimmered in its elasticity, arms and legs flowing together like tributaries to a river.

It was intoxicating to witness. Tears flowed freely from Pearl's bloodshot eyes, and her breath gave way to quiet sobs, but she didn't stop. As she twirled into the dusk, her tears caught the sunlight filtering in through the half-closed windows and refracted like spilled diamonds, blessing the granite floor of the sanctuary. Rose didn't even realize she had been holding her breath until her chest ached and her head pounded, and she had to remind herself to breathe. After several more minutes, she began to see the trembles in Pearl's limbs, and the blinding tears staining her face, and the lost balance in her graceful steps. Rose stood and walked up the aisle, approaching the wavering woman with caution.

"Pearl?" she said. Pearl came to an abrupt halt, falling flat onto the soles of her feet, her arms by her sides. She was breathing heavily, and her entire body began to shake. The sun had just about set by then, and the candelabras cast long shadows against the walls.

The silence broke with an audible sob. Pearl's knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor, clutching a chain around her neck and curling into her arms. Rose hesitated, and then jogged over to the grieving widow, tenderly placing her hands on Pearl's shoulders. Pearl peeked through her arms up at Rose, eyes swollen with tears, snot running down her face. There was a ring hanging from the chain, pressed into her palm.

"I'm here," Rose murmured, "should you want help."

"T-thank--" Pearl started before her lip trembled so hard she couldn't speak. She bowed her head back down and allowed Rose to pull her into an embrace, resting her head against Rose's shoulder. Rose had knelt on the hard floor, her knees aching but not caring. They sat in silence, Pearl's elaborate dance going through her memory. After a few moments, the silence broke.

"That was f-for _her,_ " Pearl mumbled into Rose's shoulder, between sobs. "I w-worked for _months_ for _her._ " Rose said nothing, just gently rubbing Pearl's back. She glanced up at the altar, past the armed forces memorial, towards the cross Pearl had stood at before. Leaning against it was a crumpled, faded photograph, a military portrait. It was a photo of a young woman, dark-skinned and broad shouldered with an infectious glint in her eye, dressed as a private. A name was neatly written at the bottom of the photograph.

_B. Salako_

Pearl followed Rose's gaze, focused on the photo, and then bowed her head once more, quieter tears taking over again. Rose swallowed and said nothing, simply staring at the photo.

\--

"Miss Ishikawa?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I regret to inform you that there has been an accident..."

**Author's Note:**

> I worked in an Unitarian Christian church for two years that had an interfaith staff, and an armed forces memorial dedicated to people who wanted to be honored in a religious service but had been ostracized from their religious community/family for whatever reason. Unsurprisingly, the majority of the people in the memorial were young people killed in action who were LGBTQ+ and deeply religious that had been ostracized from their community, but still wanted to have a relationship with God in death.


End file.
